The morning after the ultimatum, the camp felt... different.

Not quiet. Never that. Hermes was still whistling show tunes while walking on his hands. Dionysus had started a wine-and-breakfast stand. Poseidon was doing laps in a lake no one remembered existing yesterday.

But the air was different. Like everyone had suddenly realized we were playing a very old game with very real stakes.

So when Apollo found me that afternoon—just as I was pretending to read some ancient scroll while actually brooding—it was not entirely unexpected.

What was unexpected was that he looked nervous.

Apollo. Nervous.

“Hi,” he said, voice warm and careful, like he didn’t want to startle me.

“Hi,” I replied, suspicious.

He scratched the back of his neck. “Are you free?”

“I might be.”

He smiled sheepishly. “Would you be willing to go on a date with me?”

I blinked. “Like… right now?”

“Yes.”

“To do what?”

He hesitated. “...I wrote you a song.”

My brain short-circuited.

“A song?”

“Multiple verses,” he said, almost shyly. “And a chorus.”

“You’re Apollo,” I said. “God of music. Do you just casually write demigods songs?”

“No,” he said, suddenly very serious. “Just you.”

I swallowed. “Okay. I’m free.”

He took me to the edge of the forest where the sun hit just right, golden light streaming through trees like falling lace.

There was a blanket. A lyre. A nervous god in a loose yellow tunic trying to pretend he hadn’t rehearsed every detail.

“I thought this would be cliché enough to charm you,” he said, settling across from me. “But now I feel ridiculous.”

“You are ridiculous,” I said. “But charming.”

His smile lit up a little. “Good. Because I’m terrified.”

I tilted my head. “You’re a god. Why are you terrified?”

“Because you matter,” he said simply.

Then he picked up the lyre and began to play.

It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t drenched in power or magic. It was honest. Soft, almost fragile. The lyrics—sung low, just for me—spoke of time and starlight, of silence between seconds, of watching someone carry the weight of destiny with cracked but steady hands.

They were about me.

No riddles. No games.

Just Apollo, singing to me like the world didn’t exist beyond the sound.

By the time he finished, I had forgotten how to breathe.

He put the lyre down and looked at me like he was preparing to be laughed at.

“You wrote that?”

“Yes.”

“For me?”

“Yes.”

“That’s illegal.”

He laughed, but it cracked a little. “I meant it.”

I didn’t know what to say. My chest ached in a way I hadn’t felt before.

“I thought you’d flirt or... seduce me,” I admitted.

“Oh, I will,” he said with a grin. “But not first. First, I want you to know I see you.”

That—that—hit me like a star collapsing.

“I don’t know what this is,” I said quietly. “Or how to do this. Romance, feelings... I’m built for time magic, not dates.”

“I’m built for light and music,” he said. “But I’m still learning you.”

We sat in silence for a moment, the wind playing with the ends of his golden hair.

Then he said, very gently, “Can I hold your hand?”

I hesitated.

Then nodded.

He reached across the blanket, warm fingers slipping into mine.

We sat like that for a long time.

No spells. No training.

Just warmth between us, steady as the sun.

Of course, the peace didn’t last.

Back at camp, Hermes cornered me with a wide grin. “So. You and Apollo, huh?”

I blinked. “How do you—?”

“You’re glowing,” he said, circling me. “Like a lovestruck sundial.”

“I’m not glowing,” I muttered.

“You are. It's adorable.”

Then Dionysus appeared behind him, eyebrows raised. “He sang to you, didn’t he?”

“I’m not discussing this.”

“Too late,” Hermes said. “We’re already betting on who’ll win your heart.”

“You’re what—?”

“Poseidon put five gold drachma on Hephaestus.”

“I—”

Dionysus leaned in. “I put ten on myself.”

“I’m going to destroy time and reset this day,” I said.

Apollo passed by just then, gave me a wink, and kept walking.

I covered my face with both hands.

“I hate immortals,” I muttered.

Dionysus chuckled. “No, you don’t. You’re falling for us.”

I didn’t answer.

Because, gods help me, he might have been right.